


Amnesia

by Frosty_Mac



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Amnesia, Brightwell, Brightwell for Jess and Laura, Eventual Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell, F/M, First Prodigal Son Fic, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I needed amnesia Malcolm so I wrote one, Implied/Referenced Torture, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Missing Malcolm Bright, Protective Gil Arroyo, Serisouly. All the Brightwell., Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frosty_Mac/pseuds/Frosty_Mac
Summary: Malcolm can't remember how he got there, or where there was. All he knew was he was bleeding on the sidewalk and had something important to tell Gil. But he couldn't remember...
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Prodigies! This is my first Prodigal Son fic, so any advice is greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

Malcolm wasn't sure what happened. He looked down at his previously shaky hands, streaks of pink running down his fingertips and splashing into a growing puddle in slow motion. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there, or where there was. There were tall buildings all around him that looked familiar, but his attention was not on his surroundings. Water dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, but he couldn't look away from his palms, the swirling red turning pink and turning into rivulets streaming down. Down. Down. Down, and fell to the ground with a splash. He looked past his hands to inspect the puddle. There was an oddly shaped clear puddle as well as a red one. The two puddles were swirling into each other, making a pleasant pink color on the gray concrete. The light from the streetlamp reflected off the water, the wavering patterns making Malcolm dizzy. 

He felt heavy. Why did he feel heavy? Why was he here? He was supposed to do something. Something important. An image of Gil flashed in his mind. Gil. Something to do with Gil. He saw flashing lights in his peripheral vision but ignored them, instead focusing on Gil. He missed Gil, he hadn't seen him in a while. Malcolm was sure Gil was going to ream him once he found him. But why? 

He looked up from the puddle. There was a typical street in front of him, the traffic lights several yards away. The only light sources were the street lamp and the few cars that rolled by. It was a dismal night. Everything was wet, it was dark, and it was cold. Malcolm just wanted to go home and go to sleep. He couldn't remember ever wanting to sleep. 

His body felt numb, heavy, and cold like he'd been in an ice bath with his clothes on. Oh, he had his clothes on. Why was he wearing jeans? Did he own a pair of jeans? His shirt was soft and white. Well, not completely white. Parts of the long sleeves had pink lines like a tye-dye shirt. Haha. Tye-dye. He made a tye-dye shirt with Jackie once. The one he was wearing didn't look the same. The one he made with Jackie was round, blue, and green. This one was pink and had straighter lines. He traced the pink lines on his torso with his finger. 

Ouch. Why did that sting? He frowned at his finger. He tried again on a different line. That stung too, only this time the line turned red. 

Why. Why Why. He couldn't remember anything. Why can't he remember? He had a good memory aside from his suppressed memories about his father. His face scrunched up in concentration. 

"Sir? Sir are you okay?" 

Malcolm ignored the voice. He'd been hearing plenty of them and knew it wasn't real. It was just his brain's way of coping. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. Big mistake. Piercing pain in his abdomen forced his eyes open. He gasped, leaning over and wrapping his arms around his torso, stumbling back towards a brick wall. He felt his ribs shift under his skin. That can't be good. He tried to take small breaths to minimize the pain, but now he could feel everything. Every slice, every burn, all the bones grating together, and it was hard to breathe. As he stepped back, a rock made its way under his bare feet, causing him to stumble back into the brick wall. Another shock to his already fragile system, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, propped up against the brick wall.

When he opened his eyes he saw a tall figure in front of him. He had his back to him, one hand up to his ear, the other was flailing about. Words slowly made their way to him. "Yeah, yeah. I don't know, I just saw him on the sidewalk, and he's covered in blood." A short pause. "He's pretty out of it. How long till they get here?" 

They. Malcolm hoped it was Gil and the team or his Mother. He missed them a lot. His thoughts trailed off again, his eyes not seeing what was in front of him, his ears not hearing what was going on around him. He didn't remember closing his eyes.

Someone was touching his neck and the last time that happened... 

Malcolm's fist started flying. He flailed around until he connected with something solid, and then the hand was gone, and he curled up into himself protectively. He heard a muffled sound, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. He whimpered as another wave of pain made itself known. Tears unwillingly sprung from his eyes as he tried to breathe through it. A sharp stab of pain in his abdomen had him crying out. Hands were touching him, pulling him out of his ball, but he didn't care anymore. He blearily opened his eyes when he felt something hard placed over his mouth and nose, but everything was blurry and tinged with red.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?" The voice sounded muffled like the person was talking underwater. 

"Mmma-" was all he could get out before he cried out in pain again. Whatever had suppressed the pain earlier was long gone now. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough. The tears were still streaming down his face when he felt a pinch in his elbow. He tried to look down to see what it was, but as he raised his head, his whole body was lifted up and onto a gurney, and the agony of moving made any other thought disappear from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the noise that woke Malcolm. The incessant beeping that was getting louder with every breath felt like a needle through his brain. He felt heavy again, but this time it was a comforting heavy, like a warm heavy blanket. A cloud of fog seemed to cover his brain. He wanted to open his eyes to see what was making the sound, but it was like his eyes were glued shut. His fingers wouldn't move, his feet wouldn't move, his eyes flicked around under his eyelids, but he couldn't get anything else to move as he wanted. He managed to get a groan out, which brought in new sounds. 

He heard thick rubber soles walk quickly into the room and felt a soft hand on his arm. He heard muffled voices, but it sounded like they were talking underwater. His whole body flinched when a hand rested on his forehead. He scrunched his face up in concentration as he tried to open his eyes. He groaned again when he couldn't get his body to do what he wanted. 

"-ir. Sir, it's okay. You just got out of surgery. You'll be groggy for a while, and it's okay if you can't move yet. You woke up much earlier than most people." The hand left his head. "Just breathe and relax. It'll wear off in a couple of hours." The shoes walked out.

Malcolm tried to go back to sleep. He did. But his brain refused to shut up. Why was he here? Surgery? Why can't he remember anything? It was starting to frustrate him to the point of anger. What happened to him that was so bad that made his subconscious erase his memories? He kept trying to bring the memories back, but all he could remember was he needed to tell Gil something. 

At one point he got so frustrated he slammed his fist onto the bed. 

Wait. Slammed his fist. 

He uncurled his fingers and ran them over the blanket that was covering him. After relishing the ability to move his hands, he focused on opening his eyes. He grunted with effort, but after a few attempts, he finally got them to stay open. Everything was blurry at first, making Malcolm dizzy and disoriented. After a few blinks, his vision cleared enough for him to focus on his surroundings. 

The awful white walls, the glass windows, and glass doors of the ICU made him groan. He was in the hospital. He should have known. The antiseptic smell made him sick. It reminded him too much of The Surgeon. He would always come home smelling like antiseptic and coffee, and it made Malcolm forever hate hospitals. He looked up at the blank ceiling and groaned. Why cant he just have a semi-normal life? Why can't he just work with Gil, and have whatever he has with Dani without all the baggage that comes with him? 

He heard footsteps with thick soles again and looked down from the ceiling to see the people in the shoes. A short blonde nurse with purple scrubs and a ponytail walked in with a chart in her hand. She looked at the chart then looked at the monitors to his right and wrote down something on the paper. She jumped slightly when she looked down at him. "Oh!" She dropped her pen. She laughed nervously as she bent down to pick it up. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be awake. How are you feeling?" 

Malcolm tried to speak but when he tried he felt the dryness of his throat and started to cough. The nurse quickly dropped his chart on the edge of his bed and grabbed a glass of water on the tray he missed. She helped him sit up and guided the straw into his mouth. 

He relished the feel of the cool liquid going down his dry throat. Malcolm glared at her when she pulled the straw from his lips before he was done. "Hey, if you drink too much too fast it'll just come back up later." He softened his gaze but still glared at her. 

"So. How are you feeling?" she asked again, picking up the chart.

"Tired. Sore. What happened?" Malcolm's voice was scratchy but clear. 

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us. You have several burns, some from heat and some from ice, multiple lacerations varying in depths on your torso, extensive bruising including a sizeable one on your forehead, a gunshot graze on your shoulder, and some tearing on the bottoms of your feet."

Malcolm just stared at her. "I, I what?"

He must have looked scared because she gave him a soft smile. "Can you tell me your name? Is there someone I can call for you?"

Malcolm tried to focus on her words, but all he could think was that they missed something. "No, no there's something else. You forgot something." 

She gave him a nervous look. "Sir, can you tell me your name?" 

"Where is it? I need it. I have to give it to Gil. He needs to see it." He tried to sit up, but she pushed him down, pressing the call button on the remote connected to his bed. "Sir, Sir I need you to calm down. I can't help you if you don't calm down." She tried to hold him down but he was already pushing her away, trying to get the IV and heart monitors off. Several nurses came in and helped hold him down. 

"No! No, I need to get it to Gil. Gil needs to see it!" He thrashed against the hands holding him down, desperate to get out of their grasps. A prick on his hip stole his attention. "What is that. What did you give me? I can't have sedatives. I have to be able to wake up." He was yelling but didn't know it. 

The tug of sleep started to take hold, and the arms slowly let go. "Gil. Call Gil." he slurred. "He's a cop." He figured that was important. How many Gil's could there be in a police department?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short chapter. The next one will be more substantial I swear.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really bad about updating stuff, but with the quarantine, I'm hoping to get most of it written so I can post more often.


End file.
